Planescape: Torment

Fall-from-Grace:
Time is not your enemy, forever is.

Ravel:
There is no room for '2' in the world of 1's and 0's, no place for 'mayhap' in a house of trues and falses, and no 'green with envy' in a black and white world.

Nordom:
The issue no longer equals total logic.

Deionarra:
You must die... While you still can. The circle must come to a close my love.

Deionarra:
I shall wait for you in Death's Halls my love...

Transcendent One:
Does he really *matter* to you?

Annah:
He matters more to me than life!

Transcendent One:
Then die.

Nameless One:
I had to wind up dead in a place like this.

Nameless One:
I wonder what it was I said that made death reject me.

Morte:
Women were the reason I became a monk - and, ah, the reason I switched back...

Ravel:
The past is past, and histories care little for a-speaking the truth of it.

Fall-from-Grace:
Morte, I'm curious... What are you?

Morte:
Me? I'm the head of Vecna.

Nameless One:
I have committed many crimes across many lifetimes. I go now to a place of punishment. You cannot come with me.

Nameless One:
You're going to eat me?

Nameless One:
You can try, but you'll die from a bellyache as I gut you.

Dak'kon:
Endure. In enduring, grow strong.

Dak'kon:
There cannot be two skies.

Dak'kon:
Steel marks flesh, but flesh cannot mark steel.

Nameless One:
Well I, for one, plan on discovering the secrets of the multiverse by rubbing cottage cheese on my belly and eating vast quantities of fresh-water fish. Mmm... cheese.

Fall-from-Grace:
Morte, what are you again? I don't believe you ever said.

Morte:
Me? I'm *le petit Morte*.

Transcendent One:
The weak suffer. I *endure*.

Fall-from-Grace:
You know, Nordrom, you are perhaps the cutest little rogue modron I have ever encountered.

Nordom:
'Cutest' is a subjective term. I prefer the designation "fearsome cubed warrior".

Fall-from-Grace:
Of course! That's why you're so cute.

Nameless One:
It insults the dead when you treat life carelessly.

Nordom:
Attention; Morte. I have a question. Do you have a destiny? A purpose?

Morte:
Is Annah still wearing clothes?

Nordom:
Affirmatory.

Morte:
Then the answer is yes.

Vhailor:
Justice is not blind, for I am her eyes.

Dak'kon:
When a mind does not *know* itself, it is flawed. When a mind is flawed, the man is flawed. When a man is flawed, that which he touches is flawed. It is said that what a flawed man sees, his hands make broken.

Transcendent One:
I am that which walks with all life. My voice is a death rattle, a last breath in the throat, the whisper of a dying man.

Morte:
Hey Nordom, knock-knock.

Nordom:
Why do you persist in addressing me as a door?

Morte:
It's a joke, you stupid polygon! You're supposed to answer "Who's there?"

Nordom:
I know who is there. It is you. Why would I ask a question when I already know the answer?

Morte:
Just forget it.

Morte:
Hey Nordom, calculate the easiest way for me to snuggle with Annah's pillows.

Nordom:
Annah, Morte wishes to snuggle with your pillows!

Nordom:
Nordom is a fearsome cubic warrior!

Nordom:
Nordom and crossbows wish to go in search in trouble!

Ravel:
What can change the nature of a man?

Morte:
You know, it couldn't hurt you to be nice to me once in a while.

Annah:
Aye, it would. Hurt me, tha' is.

Vhailor:
When the injustice is great enough, justice will lend me the strength needed to correct it. None may stand against it. It will shatter every barrier, sunder any shield, tear through any enchantment, and lend its servant the power to pass sentence. Know this: There is nothing on all the Planes that can stay the hand of justice when it is brought against them. It may unmake armies. It may sunder the thrones of gods. Know that for all who betray justice, I am their fate. And fate carries an executioner's axe.

Nameless One:
I see.

Vhailor:
No, you do not see. Pray you never will.

Annah:
I wish she'd fall from a great height. I might even bump her off meself.

Annah:
Old Ward, also known as: Wanker City.

Morte:
One time you awoke obsessed with the idea that *I* was your skull and chased me around the Spire trying to shatter and devour me. Luckily, you were crushed by a passing cart in the street.

Vhailor:
Perfection through punishment.

Nordom:
I am cube de-cubed.

Nordom:
I sleep in a drawer.

Nameless One:
Can you speak?

Morte:
I love this chit already!

Morte:
C'mon, Chief! We're in a building with some of the sexiest chits this side of the multiverse, and you're stopping to talk to *modrons*?

Nameless One:
One foot in the grave and the other in hell.